Dirty Innocence
by LinChungIsHot
Summary: How many ways could Yamamoto get you to notice him without actually talking to you? The Vongola Guardians were about to find out! Simple, right? Not with Yamamoto head-over-heels for you (and certainly not with friends like these.)
1. How It All Began

It was a dare from, of all people, Mukuro.

"You're such a goody-goody," Gokudera sneered in his charming way as he and Yamamoto walked to school, with Tsuna in the middle of them. He had his lips fastened to the end of a cigarette and was absently puffing away.

"Huh? Me?" Tsuna asked.

Gokudera reddened. "No, of course not!" he cried, bowing his head once, twice, ten times. "I would never insult you, Tenth! I was talking about i_him_/i." He stabbed his thumb finger rather viciously in Yamamoto's direction.

Yamamoto wasn't really paying any attention. He had been whistling to himself, watching the birds fly and the wind blow and the trees grow. Now, at the mention of his name, he glanced at his companions. "Hmm~?"

For some reason he couldn't really fathom, Gokudera seemed to get really offended by his response. Gokudera clenched his fists angrily, the veins bulging out like cords on his neck and forehead as he growled, "Yes, you, Yamamoto. I swear, you can be so ditzy, aside from your usual baseball nut way."

"Thanks." Yamamoto was used to Gokudera's no-nonsense personality. He smiled and then nudged Tsuna with an elbow. "Hey, you're a goody, too, right?"

"Ah, I don't know…" The smaller boy shrugged. "I guess. I've been called it before."

"Yeah! It's not a bad thing! Gokudera, you can be one, too!"

"I don't i_want_/i to be a goody-two-shoes! And the Tenth is inot/i one!" Gokudera seethed.

"Hahaha."

Gokudera was really irked now. He had his arms folded across his chest and he was glaring at the pavement in front of him like it had personally slapped him upside the head. "Yamamoto, I don't even know what to do with you…you're too damn naïve."

Tsuna had to agree. "Yep. I'm sure that Yamamoto has never once done something foul, huh? Not like you, Gokudera-kun," he teased light-heartedly and Gokudera grinned; he wouldn't have reacted the same if anyone other than Tsuna had said the same thing.

Yamamoto didn't answer; he just continued to whistle off-key to himself. It really was such a lovely day, with the wind just a slight breeze, enough to ruffle his hair; the sun was shining and the birds were singing and the flowers smelled so nice—

"Kufufufufu. Never have you done something foul, Yamamoto Takeshi? I can change that."

The words were a dry whisper behind the trio. They all stopped walking and whirled around as one to find Mukuro standing there, smiling ominously.

Tsuna paled. "What're y-you doing here, Mukuro-san?" he stammered. Gokudera just glared. Yamamoto recovered from his initial shock and sort of waved.

"I was wandering nearby," Mukuro said, "and I couldn't help but overhear your conversation. I must say, that is truly interesting to know that you, Yamamoto, have not once done anything foul in your entire life. What are you, an infant?"

"Uh, no, I'm older than that," Yamamoto started to answer but Mukuro held up a hand.

"So here I am. I have appeared to propose a solution to this innocence of yours."

"Well, what is it? Spit it out already," Gokudera demanded.

"Gokudera-kun!" Tsuna said.

Mukuro widened his lips into a smile that showed the tip of his teeth, like he was some vampire. "To rid yourself of this innocence, you must spy on (Y/n) tonight."

(Y/n)…the name was familiar. Where had Yamamoto heard it? Then he remembered. (Y/n) was that pretty girl who sat two seats in front of him in math. Since math made absolutely no sense to him, Yamamoto just spent most of the class staring at her from his seat, mesmerized by the swell of her cheekbones and the curls of his lashes and the plump outline of her lips. She was so pretty…

Wait, did Mukuro just say he had to spy on her? "What?"

"Kufufufu. I know you heard me."

Tsuna was slowly inching away. "I don't want to hear anymore of this," he was murmuring.

But Gokudera was smiling. And it was i_scary._/i "Go on," he instructed Mukuro.

The Mist Guardian flicked his eyes to the silver-haired bomber. "Getting into this, aren't you?" Then he turned back to Yamamoto, who faltered at the sight of the sparkle in Mukuro's eye. "Yes, to become a true man, you must spy on (Y/n) tonight. Once the sun sets. You do know who (Y/n) is, right?"

"Yeah, but I don't see what this has got to do with her…"

"I don't see what any of this has to do with anything!" Tsuna cried. "We need to get to school, you guys, we're gonna be late—and why are you even here, Mukuro-san?"

"She always takes a bath when the sun sets," Mukuro said, completely ignoring Tsuna. "But she always leaves her window open. And her bathroom door ajar."

Oh, this was not headed in the right direction, Yamamoto just knew…

"Her room just so happens to be on the first floor of her house and there is a conveniently-placed bush outside by the window. Yamamoto Takeshi, if you were to hide in the bushes under the cover of darkness and watch (Y/n) bathe…well, you see what I'm getting at, right? Kufufufu."

It was a terrible idea! Yamamoto knew he should protest. But then he thought about what (Y/n) would look like naked… Delicious ideas planted themselves in his head and he felt his face grow hot.

Gokudera was nodding to himself. "That's a good idea, Mukuro," he admitted, somewhat grudgingly. "Surprised I didn't think of it myself. (Y/n) would never even suspect Baseball Nut creeping in the bushes, watching her as she bathes."

"Yes, yes, you understand now? It's the only way Yamamoto Takeshi can lose his innocence." Mukuro cackled. "I like the way you think, Gokudera Hayato. It is very much like me."

Tsuna grabbed the edge of Yamamoto's sleeve. "Don't listen to them, let's just go…"

"No." Yamamoto surprised even himself. He looked at Mukuro. "All right, I'll do it."

"What!" yelped Tsuna.

Gokudera snickered.

Mukuro merely grinned. "Oh? What made you change your mind so rapidly?"

It was undoubtedly the promise of seeing (Y/n)'s body. But Yamamoto couldn't say that. Instead, he just laughed. "Hahaha, it can't be that dirty, can it? I'll just get a glimpse and then I'll be gone before she even notices."

Tsuna face-palmed.

Mukuro nodded. "Tonight, then, Yamamoto Takeshi. When the sun sets. Do not forget!" And with his familiar laugh, he was gone again.


	2. Tom Loves to Peep

**LCIH: **Here's the second installement! Hope it meets your standards~! And please, no flames~!

* * *

He wasn't sure whether or not he should do it. Spying on a girl? On (y/n)? Wasn't there a term for a male who spied on a female? It was something like Tom Peeping. Or maybe the expression was Tom Love to Peep…

But spying on a girl. That was bad. If he was caught, he would hear no end of it, and he would likely be arrested…

But Yamamoto was no Tom. And he didn't like to peep. So in that sense, it was all right.

The other thing was that if he refused to go, Gokudera would blow him up. Mukuro would possess his dead body and use it as a puppet for his evil biddings. Yamamoto wasn't sure how he felt about bombs exploding his body and a dual-eyed trickster controlling his corpse.

So he had to go. If he wanted to become a true man, he had to go. It was the only way for him to lose his innocence.

Wait. Weren't there other ways?

In the end, Yamamoto worked up enough nerve to race on over to (y/n)'s house. He knew where it was. It was on the same route as his (and no, he didn't stalk her home, where did _that_ come from?). It was a pretty little house, with only two stories, and as he cautiously rounded the house, he saw that only one of the windows was open with light spilling out. Steam drifted out gently, hanging in the slight breeze.

True to Mukuro's word, there was a conveniently-placed rose bush right in front of the window. Seeing as it was the only window with a bush placed before it, Yamamoto darted on over there, sliding into the brambles like he was sliding into home base.

"Why am I even doing this?" he asked himself as he wrestled with the brambles, pushing them away. "If she sees me here, I'm dead…" He was lucky the sun had started to set. Twilight's fingers bled across the sky, crimson and purple and beautiful. Stars were beginning to show. It was a picturesque sky and Yamamoto gazed at it for a moment, reveling in its beauty.

Then he heard the soft sound of singing.

It startled him and Yamamoto jolted straight up in the bush. He hit his head on the windowsill. "Ow, jeez," he muttered, holding his aching forehead tenderly. Once the pain cleared his vision, he leaned close to the window and peered in through the glass.

He was surprised to find that it was a room. With its (f/c) walls and big, fluffy bed covered in pillows and stuffed animals and its posters of handsome actors everywhere, it was undoubtedly a girl's room.

"Cute," he said, smiling. So this was (y/n)'s room. He had somehow expected it to look like this. Sure, she didn't talk much in school—well, what would he know? He only shared math with her—but this suited his vision of her.

There was another room adjacent to hers and he could see the door, not so far away from where he hid. Tendrils of steam spiraled outward from the open door and he could just make out the outline of a bathtub, white and fancy and made of marble. It was the bathroom.

Was (y/n) in there? He couldn't tell. Furrowing his brow, Yamamoto squinted in concentration—

Then he saw her enter her room, a towel draped over one arm. She walked over to her bed and spread out the towel on the bed sheets, folding it perfectly. As she did this, she continued to sing, and though Yamamoto couldn't decipher the words, he thought her singing voice was pretty. High and clear and strong. Like an angel.

_This is your last chance to back out, Yamamoto Takeshi. There will be no turning back once she starts taking off her clothes._

Dry-voiced thoughts ran through his brain and Yamamoto recognized the voice but he was alarmed. Mukuro was talking in his head? Had he already started to possess his body?

"Oh, I get it," he mumbled, half to himself. "Gokudera blew me up and now you're taking my soul, right, Mukuro?"

_What? No. Unless you want me to, Yamamoto Takeshi. Your body is absolutely divine. So strong and in shape. I could get many things done with your body…but Sawada Tsunayoshi is my first priority. You will have to wait._

"Uh, sure." Yamamoto decided not to question why Mukuro was currently in his head. It was better if he didn't, it seemed. So he turned back to the window and answered the initial question with, "I promised you guys that I would do it, so I will."

_Excellent choice._

Even if he wanted to back out, his hormonal senses were telling him not to. (Y/n) had started to take off her school uniform. Her dainty fingers unbuttoned her blouse and in a few seconds, the silky top fell to the (f/c) carpet. Then she shimmied out of her tight-fitting plaid skirt and it soon was a crumpled heap, too.

Now she stood in nude-colored leggings and a white lacy bra. For such a quiet girl, Yamamoto didn't think she would be wearing such a sensual bra. The clasp on the back just _begged_ to be unhooked and his fingers itched with the desire.

Mukuro chuckled. _For an innocent infant, Yamamoto Takeshi, your fantasies are quite dirty, _he commented.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't look into those," Yamamoto replied breathlessly, his eyes trained on (y/n) as she stepped out of her leggings, leaving her exposed in just a bra and panties. God, the panties matched the bra, both in design and color. It looked great against her skin. And it left barely anything to the imagination. A groan built up behind his lips and he fought it down.

He'd come here regretting the decision but now he couldn't care less about being caught. The girl had a fantastic body. Slender and petite, with only a little excess fat where needed, it was the body of a temptress and Yamamoto knew he was being tempted. He felt strangely hot and bothered and she hadn't even bared all of herself yet. At this rate, it was only a matter of seconds.

_You're almost there,_ Mukuro coaxed lazily. _Those panties and that bra are in the way, hmm? Just wait they come off._

"You make it sound like you've seen her naked before," he said under his breath.

_Perhaps I have…_

And then the bra was on the floor, too. She was standing with her back to him but Yamamoto could just see the swell of her breasts, if he looked hard enough. With a soft sigh, (y/n) reached up and undid the bun that concealed her (h/c) hair. Her tresses came tumbling down like London's supposed bridges, glossy and voluminous and beautiful, falling past her breasts and stopping just short of her tiny waist.

Yamamoto inhaled sharply. "Oh, shit." His face was uncomfortably warm and he felt like he was on the verge of a nosebleed. No wonder she kept her hair up all the time! That hair alone could cause immense blood loss and amnesia.

Now she was running her hands down her neck, her breasts, her stomach, as if she knew she had an audience. Inside his head, Mukuro perked up, grinning with a rumbling laugh that said he liked where this was going. Slowly, she hooked her thumbs in the corners of her panties and tugged down ever so lightly—

At that point, it was all Yamamoto could handle. He would love to see more but it was too much already and his exploding imagination, plus Mukuro's laugh, and the blood bursting from his nose caused him to faint and he fell backward, landing hard in the bushes. The impact was loud and (y/n) gasped when she heard the rustling noises.

"Ugh, is it a Peeping Tom?" she questioned. "I shouldn't have left my window open…"

She ran over to the window and pulled it shut, locking it for emphasis. In her haste, she didn't see Yamamoto's legs sticking out from the brambles, where the bush had caught his fall.

_Too bad, Yamamoto Takeshi,_ Mukuro purred, before peeling out of the boy's mind. _Had you not fainted, you would have lost your innocence and you would have seen (y/n)'s lovely breasts from up close…_

**Attempt One: Peeking as she bathed.**  
**Suggestion: Mukuro.**  
**Result: Fail.**


	3. Best Served Fresh

**LCIH: **Here's the next chapter! I apologize for such the long wait. I had absolutely _no clue _who to write for next, and to gain my inspiration, I began watching the KHR! anime. I don't know if you've all noticed, but all my inspiration for Yamamoto has been dwindling...gasp, a terrible tragedy! And it's all switched to the beautifully arrogant Xanxus~~

**LCIH: **Anyways, enough of my ramblings. Enjoy!~~

* * *

Gokudera was all smiles and cheer the next morning as the usual trio walked to school.

"You're in a good mood," Tsuna observed, with a smile of his own. He flicked his eyes over at Yamamoto. "And, Yamamoto, you seem kind of…weird."

"Hahaha, sorry," Yamamoto laughed. He scratched the back of his head, going for obliviousness. "I didn't get enough sleep last night. I'm a little off right now."

Tsuna nodded. He'd been there before. "Ah."

Of course, that wasn't the truth. Not at all. If anything, Yamamoto had gotten more than enough sleep. He had ended up passing out in the bushes in front of (y/n)'s house. He didn't know exactly when he'd woken up, but the moon had been out and the stars twinkled above overhead. The lights to (y/n)'s room were off.

The vision of her, bare, exposed, in only her lacy white panties, flashed across his mind. It had etched itself into his head for, ahem, personal uses. He wouldn't submit to them, no, but he couldn't say the thoughts weren't tempting.

He sighed, pressing the heel of his hand into his forehead.

Before he could force himself to forget the images, there was a sharp elbow jabbed into his side.

Gokudera gave him a wide grin. As before, it was iscary/i, but Yamamoto was too jazzed up to feel any more frightened about it. "So, so, so," the silverette practically chirped. "Didja do that Mist Freak's stupid dare?"

Recognition passed over his face, and Tsuna turned to him expectantly.

"Well…" There was a smug look on Gokudera's face, and Yamamoto gritted his teeth slightly as he smiled widely. "As a matter of fact, yes. I _did_ go through with Mukuro's challenge."

A face-palm from Tsuna.

Gokudera was anxious to know details. "And? What happened?" he inquired, leaning forward so he could stick his face in Yamamoto's and whisper, "Did you get a load of boobs?"

At this point, Tsuna was horrified. The poor boy's face was as red as a fire engine. He stared, open-mouthed. "Gokudera-kun!"

"Sorry, Tenth, I forgot that your innocent presence was here." The bomber bowed his head once, twice, thrice.

And then he had straightened up and was looking at Yamamoto with a hungry glint in his eyes. "Spill it, baseball nut! Don't keep the details to yourself!"

"Hahahaha, Gokudera, I didn't think you would have the hots for pretty (y/n)."

"Tch." He scoffed. "I don't. She's just a stupid woman." Then he grinned crookedly. "But she's got a nice rack!"

A silky voice joined in on the dialogue. "My, Hayato, it's such a joy to know that my little brother is finally getting some hormones. You're growing up, aren't you?"

Three heads whipped to the left to find Bianchi lounging against the wall, her posture strangely feline as she gave them all a lazy smirk. Clad in only a shock-of-red-colored midriff and thigh-hugging black jeans, she was stunning, and she knew it, too.

"B-Bianchi-san!" Tsuna stammered. Her beauty got to him, even, and his face flamed more.

"Yo," Yamamoto offered, to which she gave a languid nod.

"Sis! _Ug-g-gh,_ euaagh, my st-stomach…" And Gokudera was down, his face against the asphalt, clutching his stomach in agony.

Bianchi didn't seem to notice the state he was in. She dragged her fingers through her lavender hair, and said, "I heard from the Mist Guardian, Takeshi Yamamoto. You went Peeping last night, didn't you?"

The image was as clear as day. Yamamoto screwed his forehead up in knots, forcibly shoving it aside. "Mukuro told you?"

"It's a shame, really, but I expected this from you. Actually," she rephrased, "I didn't expect iyou/i to go out for a little strip-search, but out of all the Guardians, you'd be the one to faint from a nosebleed. With the exception of Tsuna, of course."

Tsuna didn't catch that last part; he was kneeling at Gokudera's side. "What are you doing here, Bianchi-san?" he asked.

She pushed herself off from the wall, coming over to standing beside Yamamoto. "It seems you have a love problem on your hands, Takeshi Yamamoto. Your first mistake was to take advice from that wretched Guardian." Then she touched his shoulder gently. "Why didn't you come to me instead?"

"Eh? You?"

Tsuna yelped loudly. "_Hiiiieee!"_ He shot to his feet and began waving his arms around frantically. "No, no, Yamamoto, don't! You don't want to listen to her—!"

"We girls love food," Bianchi said, as though the brunette had never spoken. "And it is absolutely romantic whenever we receive food from our man."

She smiled. "You know what I'm saying, right, Takeshi?"

He did, and it surprisingly was a normal idea. Knowing Bianchi, he had been dreading an over-the-top response or something to do with her eternal, undying love for the spunky baby Reborn.

Yamamoto nodded, slowly, as he thought it over. "That's pretty good," he complimented, "and I think that might actually work, Bianchi. Thanks!"

In response, Bianchi's smile widened.

"Yes, and I can help you make the food, hmm?"

"Well, yeah, since you offered the idea—"

Tsuna was hysterical. "Yamamoto, you know what happens when she touches food, right?" he exclaimed quickly, his words rushing over one another. "It all turns to poison cooking!"

Gokudera gave some input with a weak, "Unnng…"

"Oi, true." Yamamoto held his hands up. "Uh, sorry, then. Bianchi, I don't think you should touch it…"

"Hmmph." She turned her head away, her nose high in the air as she snubbed him. "You ask for my help, I give you a suggestion, you take it, and then you don't even allow me to help? Takeshi, your upbringing is rude."

He opened his mouth to apologize again, but Tsuna cut in. "We don't have time for this! We need to get to school!" He grabbed Yamamoto's sleeve and tugged. "Come on, Yamamoto, at this rate, we won't make it!"

"Wait, what about Gokudera?"

"You just leave him here," Bianchi purred, and she stroked Gokudera's forehead gently. The bomber recoiled from her touch with a low groan. "He seems to always be falling ill in my presence. Obviously, he is not eating enough. I will take him home and give him a nice breakfast."

"He already h-had some," Tsuna protested.

But the Poison Scorpion had already begun dragging him away. "Leave it to me," she called over her shoulder, and then she fixed her eyes onto Yamamoto. "Make the food tonight, Takeshi. Love is best served fresh."

"Will do." Yamamoto spared one last glance at Gokudera before he ran off after Tsuna.


	4. Strawberries, Chocolate, and Poison

**LCIH: **Come on, you saw this coming.

**LCIH: **For those of you wondering, I am in the midst of writing the next chapters for my _Wicked Game_. I mentioned how I was losing my Yamamoto inspiration, and it affected my spells for that story. But I'm going to sit down and force myself to write, if that's what it takes! *determined*

* * *

It wasn't fair—Yamamoto had a sushi master for a father, and yet he wasn't allowed to help prepare anything more complicated than a simple sushi roll and some Nikuman. One would think Tsuyoshi would want his son to become a master chef like him, but no. Yamamoto was told on a regular basis to "not touch anything, you hear?"

Was it really romantic to receive sushi as a gift of love?

Yamamoto thought not.

He stood in the kitchen that afternoon, contemplating the possible choices. He was serious about this; he'd even tied his father's apron around the waist of his Namimori uniform. Tsuyoshi was out delivering hot meals.

"Hmm, what should I make?" he mused aloud, and he rubbed his chin in deep thought. He could make sushi rolls, or Nikuman. His takoyaki wasn't too bad. But was it something a girl like (y/n) would eat?

He thought about that for a moment. (Y/n) was the type who probably enjoyed a good cotton candy, or a cup of hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows sprinkled on top. Something sweet…

There was a saying: chocolate solved every woman's problems.

Well, that settled it. Yamamoto nodded to himself, satisfied, a smile on his lips. "Yeah! I'm going to make chocolate, (y/n), just for you!" Never mind the fact that he'd never actually made chocolate yet. He always had gone out and simply bought it. But, no matter. It couldn't possibly be that hard.

In order to make chocolate, he would need the ingredients and recipe. He dashed up to his room and logged onto his computer. Lord praise the Internet. It was the center of his world.

He Googled for the recipe and he spent a few minutes picking and choosing amongst recipes that seemed legit and easy to make. Around the eighth or ninth try, Yamamoto landed a jackpot. It was a quick recipe for chocolate dip, one that could be used on anything, like crackers and fruit.

Yamamoto remembered seeing (y/n) at lunch earlier in the week. She'd been sitting with her girlfriends, and the group had been immersed in some sort of gossip discussion. The whole entire time Yamamoto watched her, (y/n) had been nibbling on plump, juicy strawberries, the kind that stained her kissable lips red.

The chocolate fondue would be perfect for chocolate-covered strawberries! And fortunately, Yamamoto already had all the ingredients he needed to make this work.

He smiled to himself as he scribbled down the steps. "This is going to be awesome," he said. "Bianchi, you're a genius!"

Yamamoto spent the next ten minutes or so in the no-freeze pantry, collecting what he needed. The chocolate fondue would only take a quarter of an hour, if he did it smoothly. Then he would need to cover the strawberries and store them in the freezer for tomorrow.

He was headed back into the kitchen to start when the door to the sushi bar opened. The bells jingled musically.

"I couldn't help but overhear the praise you gave me, Takeshi Yamamoto."

"That you, Bianchi?"

The older woman poked her head into the hallway. She gave Yamamoto a cattish smile. "G' evening." Then her eyes widened slowly in feigned surprise. "Oh, are you preparing to make something for that lovely girl of yours? Can I help?"

Somehow, he had expected this to happen, and Yamamoto sighed. "I already told you," he said, smiling. "I'd prefer to make it myself."

"But I'm a top-notch chef," she protested.

"Yes, I know you are. But—"

"Don't tell me you believe what Tsuna said earlier." Bianchi sauntered toward Yamamoto, her brow set in stubbornness. "You shouldn't believe everything you hear, Takeshi. Especially something from Dame Tsuna." But it wasn't just some passing rumor. Yamamoto knew about her poison cooking. Everyone did.

"Now, allow me." She took some of the items from Yamamoto, relieving him of his burden, and then started toward the kitchen. He had no choice but to follow her.

He switched the cooker on and pulled out a saucepan, but as he did so, he decided to try one last time. "Bianchi…"

Irritated, she snorted. "All right, all right. I won't touch anything, okay?"

What a relief. "Thank you."

She stared at the saucepan, opting not to reply. She seemed to be silently sulking.

Staring at her, Yamamoto felt sort of guilty. After all, she'd been the one to give him the idea, and all she wanted to do was help? He couldn't just flat-out refuse it.

"Uh, on second thought, Bianchi…"

"Yes?"

He ran his fingers through his hair. "I've decided that it'd be nice for you to help me." Her smile was as bright as the sun; it was dazzling, but he was able to catch sight of her fingers creeping toward the pan, and he quickly said, "W-With the strawberries. At the end."

"You won't be disappointed, Takeshi," she said.

"Sure, cool." He laughed. As long as she was happy. A foul-mood Bianchi was terribly horrid.

He set about to making the fondue, and he put Bianchi in charge of the register as some customers stopped by for Takesushi dinner. Between stirring the dip and whipping up quick sushi, the chocolate was ready in half an hour. It would have taken half the time, had Yamamoto not accidently spilled rice into the chocolate.

As Bianchi carefully dipped each and every strawberry, Yamamoto stood nearby and watched to make sure nothing went wrong. When it was finished, he smiled in relief, and he handed her one of the bigger strawberries. "Thanks for your help."

"It was a pleasure, Takeshi." She bit into the top and sighed with pleasure.

Morning rolled around before Yamamoto knew it. He bundled up five of the best-looking treats, locked up the sushi bar, and headed out to meet Tsuna and Gokudera for their daily walk to school.

When the trio stepped into homeroom, (y/n) was nowhere to be found. Yamamoto took the opportunity to place the package on her desk. He then ventured over to some of the other baseball members in his homeroom, and he slipped easily into their conversation about the upcoming game. He kept one eye out for the girl as he talked.

(Y/n) came in, looking as pretty as she did every morning. Her Namimori blouse fit her perfectly, and the pleated skirt skimmed the middle of her thighs, leaving her legs long and bare. Unlike most of the other girls in the room, she didn't look worn-out and tired from the lack of sleep. She made her way to her desk, absently braiding her hair as she did so.

_Well, this is it, I guess. _ He grinned in anticipation; his pulse quickened as (y/n) spied the package. Surprise lit her face. _The strawberries are great. She'll love them. Hoo, boy, this is exciting!_ At the bottom of the bundle, underneath all of the strawberries, he'd written his name in tiny font. It was like sealing it with a kiss.

The girl raised one strawberry to her mouth slowly.

Yamamoto inhaled, waiting.

She nibbled the top in a seductive manner, and he ignored the mental image of her naked body as it popped up into his mind. Then (y/n) plopped the entire thing into her mouth with vigor.

The satisfaction was clear.

_Home run~_

She had chewed and swallowed, and she was reaching for another strawberry when she stopped. Froze. Her hand, in mid-reach, began to tremble.

_Eh…?_

Both of her hands flew up to cover her mouth. The color drained from her face, and for a moment, she was pale. A lovely shade of green filtered into her cheeks.

(Y/n) whirled around and sprinted out of the room at an impossible speed.

_W-What happened?_ Yamamoto was stunned. He could only stare at the four remaining strawberries in silence, unable to realize what had gone wrong. It had been fine yesterday—

A hand clapped his shoulder. Gokudera.

"You let my sister help you, didn't you?" Yamamoto could practically hear the smirk on the bomber's face. "I was wondering what was up with that. Strawberries aren't normally purple, right?"

Of course. Underneath the chocolate, the strawberries were covered in a purple sheen.

"…well, damn." Yamamoto put his head in his hands and shook his head. "Bianchi, she…"

**Attempt Two: Making her chocolate-covered strawberries.**  
**Suggestion: Bianchi.**  
**Result: Fail.**


	5. Time to Play

It was during a sparring session when Yamamoto was given another suggestion to win (y/n)'s affections.

Every week or so, Reborn assembled the Vongola gang for some training. It was brutal, Spartan-style training. Being a fellow athlete and lover of all things physical, these training sessions never failed to amuse Yamamoto. He loved the chance to do something physical, for he shone when put in the spotlight.

Of course, Gokudera figured he was just trying to steal the position of 'right-hand man' here. And so the insults thrown Yamamoto's way by the silverette were usually harsher during training, but Yamamoto paid it no mind.

"Would you quit trying to show off?" growled said Guardian. "No matter what you do, you'll never become the Tenth's right-hand man!"

"But I don't want to," Yamamoto replied, confused.

"Then quit showing off!"

"I'm not."

"You guys, really, it's okay," Tsuna interjected, visibly sweat-dropping as Gokudera's scowl deepened.

"To be a man and back down away from a challenge is extremely embarrassing! You must fight with all your heart and soul, Yamamoto, to the limit!" Ryohei bellowed at the top of his lungs, accenting his trademark catchphrase with an energetic pump of his fist.

"Right on, sempai!" Yamamoto laughed.

Another voice joined in, dark and sullen. "You're too noisy." Hibari, lying under an oak's leafy shade. He slit his eyes, glared at them all. "I'm going to bite you all to death."

Tsuna let out a high-pitched shriek. "H-Hibari-san, please c-calm down!" he cried, hopping up and down in terror.

Sparring sessions were usually like this. Loud and wild, and loads of fun. Yamamoto honestly could say he looked forward to the sessions every week. He liked the exercise, good for the heart and everything, and he enjoyed hanging out with his friends.

But sometimes he wished they'd be a little quieter. He wanted some time to think about the other day, of his failed attempt of wooing (y/n) with chocolate-covered strawberries.

Due to Bianchi's poison cooking factoring in, (y/n) had been absent from school for the couple of days following. Something about food poisoning and a terrible stomachache. She had finally returned today, but she hadn't looked so good. A faint hue of green was still filtered on her cheeks, and her movements had been sluggish.

Of course, Yamamoto had felt terrible. He'd been the cause of it!

But he had no way of knowing Bianchi would poison even the strawberries. After all, she'd eaten one right before his eyes and nothing had happened!

He blinked out of his thoughts as a hand was waved in front of his face.

"Yamamoto, why the extremely long face?" Ryohei inquired, his brows lifted in concern.

Plastering a grin onto his mouth, Yamamoto said, "Oh, nothing. I'm just doing some thinking."

"About what?"

"Well, um. Life. Things, in general. And…"

He wasn't very convincing, and he could see that even the boxer in front of him wasn't buying it.

All of a sudden, Ryohei got this _look_, like he knew a secret that no one else knew. He leaned in close and whispered loudly, "I bet you're thinking about a girl, huh?"

"Ah…"

Ryohei squared his shoulders proudly. "I knew it! You _are,_ aren't you?" He fitted his fists to his hips and laughed a booming chuckle.

The others glanced over at them to see what was going on. Embarrassed, Yamamoto struggled not to flail about wildly as he hissed, "Sempai, not so loud!"

"Oh, it's on the hush?" Nodding to himself, the boxer quickly lowered his voice. "I understand, then."

Gokudera glared at them from where he stood, at Tsuna's side. "What are you two sports nuts whispering about?" he demanded, suspicion on every angle of his face.

With a gasp, he realized the inevitable and practically yelled, "You're plotting on how to become co-right-hand men, isn't that right! Well, I will never let that happen!" He latched onto the side of the brunette beside him. "I, Gokudera Hayato, am the rightful candidate to fulfill that position! Not you, baseball freak, and certainly not you, turf top!" Insanity had spiraled into his irises.

Red was dusted across the Vongola Decimo's face. "G-Gokudera-kun, please…"

Never one to back away from a challenge, as said before, Ryohei crossed his arms over his chest and shouted, "I don't know what you are talking about, octopus head, but I admire your fighting spirit! I will spar with you, to the limit!"

"But you're supposed to be sparring with Yamamoto," Tsuna pointed out.

"This is ridiculous! Come on, Tenth. Let's find someplace quieter." Huffing in an exasperated manner, Gokudera grabbed Tsuna's arm and dragged him off to make out, no doubt.

Once the pair was out of the picture, Ryohei spun back around to face a baffled Yamamoto. "I know of a way to help you with your predicament!"

From experience, Yamamoto knew two things: he probably shouldn't have listened to the upperclassman's advice, for it was destined to fail, as did the other two suggestions he got.

And the second thing was that unless he agreed to listen, Ryohei wouldn't clam.

"O-okay, sempai, let's hear it."

"You, Yamamoto, are an extraordinary baseball player." Ryohei slung an arm around the raven-haired teen's shoulders, bringing his close. "And what better way is there to win a girl's heart than to show off your extreme talent?"

That wasn't a bad idea, actually.

Yamamoto had expected something extreme to fit the part of the energetic boxer, but the idea was surprisingly normal.

And a large portion of Yamamoto's fan base had become smitten after witnessing him in action. There was a good chance that (y/n) would do the same. All he would need was a bat and a ball and he'd be set—

"I like it, sempai." He was grinning. "I think I'll try it."

"EXTREEEEME!" Ryohei slapped his shoulder in excitement. "You do your best to win her heart, Yamamoto, and she will be yours, to the limit!"


	6. Beanball

**LCIH:** Not as crack-filled as the ones before, but still pretty cracky! LOL, enjoy.

* * *

Yamamoto belonged to both the baseball club and Namimori's baseball team. The sport was his passion, his love, his obsession. He breathed, lived, ate, and smelled baseball. It was practically all that ran through his mind. So it made sense that he would be involved in both the club and team.

He regularly had after-school practice every other day.

But this practice was different.

(Y/n) would be there.

He grinned to himself as he stretched out his hamstrings and other various leg muscles. It was an arrangement that had no holes so far. Plenty of girls liked to sit in the stands and watch the baseball practice. There were some good-looking upperclassmen on the team, but the majority came for Yamamoto. And although he liked the attention, it was sort of overwhelming at times.

Earlier in the day, he'd sought out a couple of (y/n)'s friends. He shared classes with quite a few of them. Given a few minutes to spare, he had approached the girls and asked if they'd like to stay and watch the afternoon practice.

He decided to bring the big guns out: a flash of a smile and a friendly tilt of his head and they had agreed.

During math, he'd thought about stopping at (y/n)'s desk and personally inviting her to the practice, but he couldn't work up the nerve. So in the end, he asked another couple of her friends and subtly mentioned (y/n); they'd agreed to bring the girl along.

Finishing with his stretches, Yamamoto got to his feet. He took off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair. Sweat had already started plastering his hair to his neck. It was an extremely hot day: the sun shone like it had a personal grudge, the wind barely stirred up a breeze, and although he enjoyed the sunshine and all, it wouldn't have hurt for the fiery ball hanging in the sky to back down a little.

The coach had arrived, and the team was gathering around him. As Yamamoto headed on over, he glanced up at the stands. The girls were all there, sitting in a big clump. They had taken the time to make posters, which they waved about wildly. A handful was still dressed in the standard Namimori blouse, but most of them had changed into casual clothes.

Right at the edge of the group was (y/n).

She had done a compromise on the clothing: her plaid skirt was still on, but her blouse had been swapped with a (f/c) tube top. Her tie had been threaded around her hips like a belt. The heat hadn't gotten to her yet: her hair framed her face in ringlets and she looked comfortable.

Unlike her friends, she had no handmade sign. She was actually reading a thick, dog-eared book.

Yamamoto admired her passion for reading. It was attractive, in a sexy student sort of way.

The girls noticed Yamamoto and they began cheering his name loudly, waving their hands and signs in the air like crazy. (Y/n) did not join in; she didn't even look up. Yamamoto waved, admiring her concentration.

But as the practice progressed, he began to curse that concentration.

(Y/n) didn't bother to watch more than five minutes. She clearly didn't want to be there, underneath the sweltering sun. Obviously her friends had dragged her there, courtesy of a certain raven-haired swordsman. She kept to her book, giving Yamamoto a true picture of what an avid reader looked like.

The only time she did take a break from the literature world was when the team had been in the middle of a scrimmage. Yamamoto knew that was his chance to show off, to win her heart, but he'd been in the hole and unable to do anything.

Even when he took to the bat and smashed a curveball for a home run, she didn't look up.

Soon the temperature became an uncomfortable factor. The boys were sweating through their baseball uniforms. Yamamoto's clung to his chest like a second skin. Sweat poured down his face, and every so often he had to stop and scrub the back of his palm over his forehead.

The onlookers were affected as well. The girls were using the sings as paper fans, frantically waving them in front of their face in an attempt to generate a cool breeze.

Practice neared its end, and Yamamoto had just about given up. He hadn't been able to even hold your attention on him. The plan was a bust.

"Hey, Coach!" a fellow teammate called out. "It's too freaking hot!"

"What can I do about it?" he hollered back.

"Can we take off our uniforms?" someone else yelled.

The man considered. Then he shrugged. "Eh, sure. Why not."

All around Yamamoto, the guys grasped the hems of their uniforms and ripped them over their heads. He followed suit, pulling his off and tossing it to reveal a lean torso with a perfectly toned abdomen and lightly corded arms.

Immediately, the girls began screaming in pure fangirlish joy.

It was a relief to have his shirt off. Yamamoto decided to forget trying to show off. He would focus on the game from this point on.

And he did. Without (y/n) on his mind to distract him, Yamamoto was all game. He tore up the bases. He ate every ball hurled his way. His throws were spot-on, and he didn't miss a single catch.

In the final inning of the scrimmage, the coach put Yamamoto as shortstop. This wasn't a particular favorite position for Yamamoto, so he kept his eye on the batter's box, awaiting the contact. He would need to stay on top of his game for this.

The batter choked up on the bat, gearing up for the pitch.

The pitcher wound his arm back and prepared to throw.

Yamamoto leaned forward, ready.

Something caught his eye.

He craned his neck over towards the bleachers to see (y/n) stand up. She'd put her book down and she was now slipping her shirt over her head. He could see that the tube top was becoming drenched in sweat, and the girl was only planning to air it out quickly while no one was looking.

Not too long ago, he'd seen her body. Yet this was more sinful than that time—and it was possibly due to one of two things. She wore a flimsy, black lace bra. The thing was nothing more than a collection of strings. And it looked like it belonged on a sultry temptress or an exotic dancer; it was that alluring.

And a thin sheen of sweat had overtaken her skin, giving it a glossed appearance. Her cheeks were flushed pink, and she was all hot and sweaty. Yamamoto couldn't help but think that she was delicious, like she had just had the best sex of her life and—

_Fuck._

Desire, wild and buzzing, flowed through his veins.

And then pain cracked across his face, and he went down.

Next thing he knew, he was looking up at a circle of his teammate's friends, their expressions ranging from worried to exhausted to downright amused. "Oh, man!" one of them exclaimed. "You okay, Yamamoto?"

He sat up, dazed, knowing immediately what had happened. The batter had hit a drive ball, and it had come straight down the line toward him. It should've been an easy catch for a shortstop.

But he'd been preoccupied with watching you and it had smashed into his cheek, leaving the one side of his face entirely red.

"That hurt," he groaned, laughing weakly as he gingerly touched his smarting cheek.

Something warm trickled into his mouth, and his guess was confirmed when someone said, "Your nose is bleeding!"

Yamamoto climbed to his feet, spitting out a bloody wad into the dirt. "Yeah, it caught my nose a little," he lied, and he tilted his head forward and pinched his nose shut. "It's not a big deal. I'm fine."

Of course, the nosebleed hadn't been from the ball.

As the players repositioned themselves to continue the scrimmage, Yamamoto walked back over to the dugout. "Get some ice, champ," the coach said, with a pat to his back. Yamamoto nodded in agreement.

He headed over to the icebox, but he stopped and stole a look over at the bleachers.

(Y/n) had put her top back on. She was seated and reading again.

Yamamoto couldn't stop an aggravated groan. He'd gone through all that trouble, and he had taken a ball to his face, and she _still_ hadn't noticed him.

All in all, it was a huge upset for him. He hadn't won her affections, he'd made a complete fool out of himself with that slip, and he now had a bloody nose and a swollen cheek.

**Attempt Three: Showing off while playing baseball.**

**Suggestion: Ryohei.**

**Result: Double Fail.**


End file.
